


Burning Sage

by Pombee



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dom Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Dom/sub, F/M, Humiliation, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Safeword Use, Safewords, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Subdrop, Top Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pombee/pseuds/Pombee
Summary: “I would like to invite him to join us, after dinner.”One time a griffin had kicked Geralt in the chest so hard his ribs had cracked and his lung had been compressed, and it had felt better than this. Any trace of oxygen had left Geralt’s body. The silence stretched. Yennefer's eyes didn’t waiver.Yennefer invites Jaskier to stay in her current residence, which just so happens to be where Geralt has been staying before his yearly winter migration. The witch has always been demanding, and he’s always bent to her will, but he never expected her to drag Jaskier into the arrangement.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 20
Kudos: 86





	1. Vague Thoughts, Stark Reality

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't published anything in the last ten years, so this is nerve wracking for me! I've written a lot I haven't posted, so I'm trying to publish this as I finish it so I can't second guess myself endlessly. I hope some of you like the idea of a Geralt sandwich just as much as I do! I haven't quite figured out Jaskier's denotation - switch or dom - but we will get there soon hopefully. This is just the premise, future chapters should be longer! :)

Yennefer was staying in a manor house that was built from stone and stood on the side of a tall, tree-sheltered hill. From the south windows tenants could see the village in the valley below. Autumn was just starting to settle into the continent, and soon the trees would blush red and flare yellow, the fields would lose their green hue, and the days would grow short. 

“I’ve asked someone to join us for dinner tonight,” Yennefer said nonchalantly. She sat at a large wooden table laden with potion ingredients, working deftly through the orders she had recently received from nearby courts or villagers. She didn’t say anything further, though - she enjoyed making him ask for the details. 

After a few moments of quiet movement from behind him but no words, Geralt turned away from the window in askance. Yennefer didn’t look up from her work, but apparently his piqued curiosity was enough for her.

“I saw Jaskier at court last week, when I went to help the king cure his little fertility problem.” Yennefer began chopping rosemary quickly but with ease, still refusing to meet Geralt’s stare. He was downright glowering now. Jaskier? She’d invited Jaskier _here?_ “His contract ends today, and so I told him he could come stay here for a while. He refused at first, of course - he’s still wary of me. But I made sure to tell him you were in the area, and that he would be welcome here. With us.”

Anger, built from embarrassment and unease, bubbled up from Geralt’s gut and caused his throat to constrict. Jaskier couldn’t be allowed here, in this space he had finally carved out for himself in Yennefer’s busy life. Geralt didn’t have too much time here, between contracts he had to take for the coin and his witch’s busy schedule. What if Jaskier saw what they did, what she reduced him to, what he allowed her to do? He was too soft, far too open with his affections, to understand it, and it would turn him away from Geralt. 

“Yen,” he growled. 

“The townspeople had a fruitful harvest, I think he could make a good amount of coin in the valley,” she went on nonchalantly. “They’ve been kind enough to you.” Geralt needed her to turn around. He needed her to look at him, to pay attention, to see him. “And if you would rather him not spend too many nights here, he could easily find a lady to keep him company there. But-” 

Finally, _finally,_ Yennefer put down the knife in her hand and turned to face him. Even in the dimly lit chamber, where the only light was from the large windows Geralt stood in front of, her eyes shone brightly. 

“I would like to invite him to join us, after dinner.”

One time a griffin had kicked Geralt in the chest so hard his ribs had cracked and his lung had been compressed, and it had felt better than this. Any trace of oxygen had left Geralt’s body. The silence stretched. Yennefer's eyes didn’t waiver. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want Jaskier. Quite the opposite was true, in fact. Jaskier was a bright light in the dim, gritty existence of being a witcher. His quick wit and antics made Geralt laugh more often than he could ever remember doing before that fateful day in Posada. Jaskier stood up for him time and time again, complimented him like he deserved it, and took away his ale without a second thought. _Of course_ Geralt had thought about what it would be like to take him to bed, but that did not mean he was ready to face what was about to happen. 

“It’s settled then,” Yennefer decided, breaking Geralt out of his panic. Fuck. She’d done the thing again, the mind reading thing that he didn’t so much dislike as forget about. As much as it annoyed him that nothing was sacred, it was equally calming to know that Yennefer could understand the things he could not say. Words, obviously, were not his strong point. 

Still, Geralt felt as if he was about to heave up whatever he had eaten last. 

“Relax,” Yennefer said sternly. She turned back to her potions, using the side of her hand to move the rosemary off of her cutting board and into a waiting dish dismissively. “I won’t ask too much of you tonight. You forget your bard is a harlot who’s also seen you slay monsters, Geralt. Not much is going to phase him at this point.”

Geralt made himself scarce for the rest of the day, which seemed to pass by all too quickly and all too slowly at the same time. Yen needed to work on her potions, anyway, and he was all too restless to be of any help. He tried to mend a hole in an old shirt but he couldn’t concentrate, and in the end Geralt ended up spending much of the afternoon with Roach even though the manor staff were capable of taking care of her. 

As the sun started to fall low over the horizon Geralt made his way back into the keep and tried to bathe. It wasn’t very relaxing, seeing as it felt as if his soul was going to vibrate out of his skin, but with concentration Geralt was able to get the job done. He brushed his hair quickly and put on a casual pair of pants and a loose fitting black shirt, but stood in front of the mirror for far longer than necessary before reminding himself that Jaskier had seen him covered in guts, road dust, and who knew was else for over a decade. This would have to do. 

Geralt was climbing down a set of stairs when he first heard Jaskier’s voice ring through the stoney halls of the manor, all thank-yous and how-do-you-dos. All at once Geralt realized he hadn’t heard that voice in weeks. How many, he didn’t know, but it had been far too long. His heart twisted in his chest, reminding him that yes, he had actually missed Jaskier a great deal. 

Geralt turned the corner into the front entryway and had to pause in his tracks as cornflower blue eyes turned on him. Jaskier’s face broke out into a blinding smile and his arms flung themselves out wide. 

“Geralt, my dear friend! It’s been far too long!” he trilled. “How have you been?”

The problem was, Geralt couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Yennefer was standing beside Jaskier in the entryway and the juxtaposition of them, the two most important people in his life outside of his pack, standing together waiting for him, was enough to paralyze the witcher. Lilac and gooseberries, juniper and sage, sharp lilac and delighted cornflower blue. 

“Spoiled,” Yennefer finally answered, filling the silence for him. “He’s been as spoiled as a cat in court.”

Jaskier’s laugh was like sleigh bells on a cold winter morning. “Thank Melitele! It’s not often Geralt gets to live easily.”

Yennefer smiled, but her eyes looked straight at Geralt. She was trying to say something, he knew it, and that something was definitely _See? This will be perfect._

Dinner was held in a small, intimate dining room. Geralt was silent through most of it, listening to Jaskier’s tales and adventures since they had last traveled together. His animation and laughter usually made Geralt feel calm, but today it was making him vaguely uneasy. When had Jaskier become so close to Yennefer? What had happened in court to make them so friendly? 

“...Geralt? Isn’t that right?”

Fuck, what had Yennefer said? What had he missed? And now she was sighing at him, Melitele save him-

“I was just saying that Jaskier should come share some Toussant wine with us in my chambers later tonight.”

Geralt swallowed his ale heavily and tried to will his throat into movement, because he couldn’t stay silent. He had to say something, this wasn’t a moment he could rely on others to speak for him. 

“Yes,” he murmured into his plate. “He definitely should.” 

It was worth the feeling of sand in his throat when he looked up and found Jaskier’s waiting face lit up like a bonfire on Belletyne. Geralt’s blood ran hot at the thought of that happiness being turned on him in the context of the evening to come. 


	2. Watch and Learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First times aren't all they're cracked up to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! As promised, this chapter is much longer - about 3x the size! I hope you enjoy! If there are any errors or if I've gone back on myself, please let me know.  
> 
> 
> Some warnings: Tags updated to reflect. Geralt is nervous throughout but allows Yennefer to make decisions for him. This is fully consensual - Geralt knows he can change things if he likes and chooses not to, even when feeling shame. He's also a very unreliable narrator. Below are some more in depth notes in case anyone is worried, since this is a BDSM fic: (Spoilers)  
>  Everyone stays dressed. Geralt is blindfolded but given a safety net for it. He is ignored and asked to crawl at one point, causing feelings of humiliation. He wants to be ignored but feels lost when he finally is. He uses his "safe word" by accident and Yennefer deals with it in what might seem like a cruel way, but which works for them. The issue here is "I feel left out of the threesome" and Yennefer's response is angry (unreliable narrator tho!): "You wouldn't be here if I didn't want you to be. I was trying to make this easy for you." Everything gets softer after that. More after care to come in the next chapter, I just cut it as Jask left.

“You’ve been quiet,” Jaskier said from his place at Geralt’s side as they followed Yennefer up a flight of steps. His face was open, apprehensive. “Is everything alright? If you want to be alone, I can certainly entertain myself for the evening-"

"No," Geralt cut him off gruffly. "I'm just not used to it yet. You and Yen getting along."

Speaking of which, Yennefer was doing a very good job of pretending not to hear them as she set off down a corridor. 

"Well, you're not wrong,” Jaskier conceded. “Sometimes you have more in common with your enemies than you realise, though." The bard’s small, secretive smile made Geralt feel as if he were missing an important piece to a large, complicated puzzle. 

Just in time to save him from his own thoughts, Yennefer came to a door on her right and announced it was Jaskier's room. She then pointed down the hall to a room on the opposite side, and let him know that was where they would be in about an hour's time. 

Jaskier bid Geralt farewell with a chipper grin, a wink, and a promise to see the two of them in a bit.

"A whole hour," Geralt remarked as he followed behind Yennefer once again. His voice was slowly coming back to him, but he still felt off-balance and unsure of the entire situation to come. He was pretty sure his exterior remained calm - he was trained to do so, after all - but the urge to shake apart still remained. 

"I figured we should have a chat," Yennefer explained. She opened the heavy door that led into her sitting room and waved Geralt in first, then led him smoothly through it and into her bedchamber. Sometimes Geralt felt as if she floated across the earth rather than walked, extraordinary and otherworldly since the moment he met her, a juxtaposition of human desperation and want underneath a hardened ethereal shell. Yen had sharpened herself into a blade out of sheer force of will to survive and achieve her goals. For someone like Geralt, who had been shaped at the hands of others, it mystified and enchanted him. 

Yen sat at the foot of her mattress and raised a wrist towards Geralt, which shocked him out of her musings since it was usually the sign of things to come. Did she want to begin now? What would happen if then started now, and Jaskier entered in an hour? 

"Geralt," the sorceress chided softly. "We're just talking. Help me with my dress." 

Geralt reached for the fiddly buttons of her black gown, now understanding she was giving him something to focus on so he wouldn't get caught up in the details of the night ahead of them. It occurred to him that she hadn't had this chat with him earlier because she knew he'd have sat through dinner miserably, allowing every possible scenario to rush over him in a flood of anxiety. Yennefer was far too clever for his own good. 

"I was thinking we could enjoy a small amount of wine in front of the fire," Yen began again. "I expect it'll be a quiet evening, I don't think we should do anything strenuous." 

Geralt looked up as he finished the last of the fiddly buttons. Their eyes met and the other wrist was offered to him. He always marveled at how small Yennefer's bones were between his large, calloused hands, especially since she could pin him with just a look.

The silence started to stretch until Geralt finally broke it. His voice always felt like gravel to his own ears. "What did you tell Jaskier?"

Yennefer waited until he was finished with the cuff before she stood curtly and turned away from him, sweeping her curls over her shoulder. Geralt took the hint and started undoing the buttons at her spine, wishing his fingers weren’t so large. 

"We were both drunk," Yennefer started, and Geralt already didn’t like where it was headed. "I know Jaskier dislikes me because he thinks I want to take you from him, and as amusing as that is, I finally told him that's not the case. He didn't believe me at first, but we retired to his room to drink more and…. Well." 

Geralt came to the end of the row of buttons and paused at the base of her spine, waiting for her to go on. 

“Nothing explicit happened,” Yennefer finally went on. “We mainly talked. He wasn’t surprised when I said I know what I want, sexually. I’m pretty sure he has an inkling as to the kind of relationship we have. Either way, he wants you. That much is clear.”

Geralt’s hands slowly moved to Yennefer’s hips - where they fit so perfectly - as he tried to digest what she was saying. 

“He wants anything with a pulse.”

“Well, yes,” Yennefer agreed with a chuckle. She turned a fraction, just enough to see Geralt over her shoulder. Unable to fight the force of gravity, he leaned into her space more - after all, Yennefer was a planet and he was cursed to be a moon, constantly orbiting within her reach. 

“But he’s also always returned to you.”

Yen was making a point, a callback to their own relationship agreement. When they were apart it did not matter who they laid with, because whether they liked it or not the djinn made sure they would always return to each other. 

Geralt sighed and shook his head. “Yen,” he warned. 

She stepped away to start peeling off her dress, leaving him with nothing better to do than close his hands into fists. 

“You can relax on the furs in front of the fire while Jaskier and I talk,” Yennefer said in a tone that brooked no argument as she slipped out of her gown. Geralt knew he could disagree, fight it, but he honestly felt relieved when Yennefer decided things for him. It didn’t stop him from feeling nervous, like a coil spun too tight, but it made things easier. Yennefer’s exposed body wasn’t helping the matter, and along with the thought of Jaskier, Geralt felt as if his blood was going to boil in his veins. 

“I don’t think Jaskier should get to touch you tonight, but I’m going to do as I please. Your bard is quite handsome, isn’t he?”

“‘S not mine,” was all Geralt could say.

Yennefer didn't deign him with a response as she set her dress aside to avoid wrinkles. The edges of the black silk robe she took out of her wardrobe were trimmed in soft fur, and the fact that she skipped stockings meant she was hoping for a comfortable night. After tying the belt and looking briefly in the mirror, Yennefer strode back towards the sitting room. 

"Start the fire, will you?"

Grateful for something to do besides watch her, Geralt moved to do so. When he turned away from the hearth Yennefer had placed a thick fur by her plush armchair. Usually their couplings were hasty power exchanges given freely in the moment, unplanned in their roughness. It was odd to see her put so much forethought into sex. To add to the weirdness of the entire situation, a pitcher of water had been brought in sometime earlier along with a bottle of wine and a few sweet cakes. Yennefer never had food brought into her chambers - they must have been for Jaskier. 

"Come here," Yennefer ordered. Geralt went. When she pointed to the furs, he slowly bent to kneel on them and received a curt "Good" for his trouble. 

Yen's legs - for that was all that was within view - wandered away. It was quiet except for the crackle of the fire. Geralt’s skin became suffocating in it’s tightness. 

When Yennefer's legs wandered back into his view, Geralt met her eyes. In one hand she held a small wooden ball the size of his medallion, but three dimensional. In the other, Yennefer was holding a black strip of fabric. 

"Since speaking is beyond you half of the time," she explained, shaking the ball and causing a bright, clear bell sound. Yennefer bent at the waist and took hold of his sword hand, pressing it into the center of his palm. "Hold it. It will get my attention if you drop it. I know you let me do whatever I want, but I'm not going to be focused on only you now. Drop it if you need to." 

Geralt turned the ball over in his hand.It was smooth to the touch. 

"I'm also going to blindfold you, so Jaskier can't see you glare at him."

Even though Yen was obviously joking in order to hide the fact that she was trying to help him stay settled, it still stung that his resting face may give Jaskier the wrong idea. Geralt was no stranger to having his sight taken away in the context of his relationship with Yennefer. His senses were so heightened that sometimes he couldn't bear the sights and the sounds and the feelings and the smells all at once, and ridding himself of an input allowed him to actually enjoy the experience instead of becoming overwhelmed. Sometimes Yennefer pressed his face into the mattress, sometimes she smothered him with her sex, sometimes she ordered him to shut his eyes“because he didn’t deserve to look at her”. But she had never done this, left him bereft of his sight for an extended period of time right at the beginning. 

Geralt nodded for lack of a better response. 

"Good." 

He watched Yennefer as she crouched down and slowly brought the strip of fabric up to his face, knotting it just under his hair tie with deft fingers. 

It was odd, being plunged into darkness even though his eyes were open. Geralt breathed in deeply, using Yennefer's familiar scent to ground him. Lavender and gooseberries. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the ball in his hand. The fire crackled loudly in the quiet room. Underneath it, he could hear the steady beat of Yennefer's heart, four times as fast than his own mutated one. Yennefer's chambers were charmed; no sound could penetrate the border, and none could escape. He was thankful that he couldn't hear the scamper of the manor staff or the crickets outside. Just the fire, their breaths, and Yennefer's heart. Thump. Thump. Thump. 

"I'm going to let Jaskier in. Don't move." 

He listened to her footsteps retreat, the lock on the door thud and the hinges squeak. Jaskier must have been standing just outside the threshold and for the moment he could only hear Yennefer. 

"Are you going to come in, or just stand out there all night? I have a surprise for you.”

" ...Quite loaded, isn't it?" Jaskier must have stepped through the doorway halfway through his answer, but there was no more movement. Geralt resisted the urge to turn around when he heard Jaskier's breath hitch and his heart skitter.

"Go sit on the sofa. I'll pour you some wine,” Yennefer told him as she closed and locked the door once more. Her steps moved towards the sideboard, while another set moved around the far side of the sofa. The cushions released under pressure. Geralt almost wished Jaskier had crossed on his side, just so he could feel the air move around him and catch that familiar scent. 

The sound of liquid being poured. The smell of red wine. Footsteps and the clink of Jaskier's rings on glass. 

"Don't drink it too fast," Yennefer warned. "It's expensive." Her robe brushed Geralt’s knees as she strode past him to sit in the armchair on his right. 

"We don't want a repeat of the last time we saw each other?" Jaskier joked. His voice was light, but his heart was still beating too quickly. A scent of anxiety was starting to permeate the air of the sitting room, and it was starting to put Geralt on edge. Of course he was anxious - Jaskier hadn't expected this, hadn't asked for it. What was a witcher worth if he wasn’t strong and capable? Not only did people disrespect him, but now Jaskier was seeing that he asked to be treated like shit-

"No," Yennefer said. Suddenly a weight landed softly against the back of his head. It wasn’t until fingers ran through the hair just above the tie, digging into his scalp, that he realized it was Yennefer’s hand. As she tugged, the witcher finally came back into his body. Pain was, of course, the easiest of the languages taught at Kaer Morhen.

"I was hoping you'd show off some of your skills this time around,” Yennefer went on. A note of playfulness bled into her voice. “I've heard you're quite entertaining." 

Geralt heard Jaskier swallow thickly. "If I had known you wanted a show, I would have brought my lute along with me." 

"I don't think you'll need it." Yennefer's hand left his scalp. The fire popped.

Jaskier’s breath came a little shaky, and the note of anxiety was still there in his scent, but the all-too familiar scent of arousal was starting to bloom under it now. Geralt thought of all the times he had smelled it, in bars and taverns and on the Path, for maidens and men and memories played again and again - and now Yennefer. But never him. 

"You sound like you have something in mind." A breathy note was starting to creep into Jaskier's voice. Geralt longed to see his face, but at the same time he was happy he could not - he did not want to know what it would feel like to see them trained on Yennefer while he sat here on the floor for their entertainment. 

The sorceress chuckled. "Someone has to." The sound of her standing up. "Geralt, I'm going to need you to move in front of the sofa. I decided I want to sit there instead. I'm cold." 

Geralt stilled completely. Was he allowed to stand up? Would he have to shuffle? In front of Jaskier? 

The truth was worse than his racing thoughts. 

Yennefer's warmth came closer to him as she crouched down and took his sword hand in her own. The bell was taken from his grip and a moment later he felt the skin-warmed surface of it touch his lips. Suddenly all Geralt could hear was his own pulse. 

"Come now, don't be shy," Yennefer murmured. 

Geralt was frozen. When she humiliated and chided him in the privacy of their own interactions, it was quite one thing. He had tied Yennefer to himself against her will, and she deserved to do as she liked. But this, in front of Jaskier? That was another thing entirely. 

Slowly, for lack of a better alternative, Geralt opened his mouth and allowed the ball to be pushed between his lips, stretching his jaw uncomfortable until he held it between his teeth. He tried to ground himself and resisted the urge to spit it back out by running his tongue against the smooth surface. 

"Good. Use your hands. Follow my voice, pup." 

Geralt's heart felt as if it had stopped. He became deathly still. The fire crackled. Time stopped. 

She wanted him to _crawl_ after her like a _dog_. 

The fire popped angrily. The air in Geralt’s lungs became thick, like porridge, slowly drowning him. 

"I will not ask you again." 

Out of sheer need to not be chided again, the witcher leaned forward and placed both hands on the ornate rug, digging his nails into the surface. He could feel his hair fall in front of his shoulders and he hoped it at least shielded his face from Jaskier. 

Jaskier, who was barely breathing and who's heart was stuttering wildly against his ribs. 

He followed the sound of Yennefer's voice. "Right here. There we go. Good. Sit up." 

Geralt wanted to hide his face longer, but after a tense moment ultimately sat back on his haunches. If his heart didn't naturally beat at quarter speed, he had no doubt he would be bright red in the cheeks like a chastised child. 

Yen held his chin in one hand as she took the bell from his mouth once more.

"If you hear this drop," she said, and now her voice was projecting in a different direction. Talking to Jaskier. "We stop."

"Yeah, of course." Jaskier's voice was still breathy. At least Geralt had not put too much of a damper on his arousal. 

The bell made a small ring and when Yennefer paced it back in Geralt’s palm it was dry. She must have wiped it on her robe.

"Good. Now, I had a little surprise brought up for you since you traveled so far, Jaskier."

"You're telling me the beautiful witcher kneeling at my feet isn't enough if a wonderful surprise?" Jaskier quipped. The bard wasn't afraid to make a joke at his best friend's expense, of course, but he was rarely this cruel. Geralt squeezed his fists in anguish until the wood in his palm started to strain and his nails bit into his skin.

"That's only a bonus. Bread and circus, as they say." 

Geralt tried to tune out the words and simply let the sound of their voices carry him. He wished they would stop talking about him - ignore him completely, let him just bask in the scent of their arousal and the sound of their hearts. 

Yennefer's footsteps drew closer. Jaskier let out a little "oof" and the frame of the sofa made a creaking sound. Yennefer must have sat in his lap, back to the armrest. 

"I said I was cold, what did you expect?" She said. "Warm me up." 

There was a rustle of fabric that Geralt couldn't discern, and then Yennefer said “There we go. Now, a little birdie told me you enjoy sweets.”

“A little birdie, you say?” Jaskier laughed. 

“Well, it was more of a…. Wolf, let’s say.”

“And I would say he is absolutely correct, my dear.”

Geralt was almost annoyed that Jaskier felt comfortable enough to call Yennefer “my dear”, but soon their attention moved on and Geralt's nerves settled, glad to have the attention elsewhere again. He allowed the sounds of Yennefer and Jaskier feeding each other sweet cakes to wash over him, all happy murmurs and small, soft giggles from Jaskier

"Wait," came Jaskier's voice after an undefined amount of time. "Shouldn't we leave one for Geralt? He's been so good, he deserves one." 

There was a pause - Yennefer was probably studying him. Geralt raised his chin a little in acknowledgement and sat a little taller. 

"I suppose," Yen finally conceded. "Later, though." The plate clinked as it was put down on the side table. Fabric rustled. "I want to taste the main course first." 

"And what might that be, dear Sorceress?" Jaskier said amusedly. His aroused scent spiked. Geralt breathed it in deeply. 

"I'm sure you've got an idea," Yennefer murmured so softly. And there it was, the sound of kissing. 

It should have been comforting, like the feeding. The sounds and the smells should have absolved him of the anxiety of being the center of attention, washing him clean of all of his shortcomings and cleansing him, but as Jaskier's lute calluses softly brushed against Yennefer's soft skin all he felt was alone. Bereft. He ran his thumb over the smooth wood of the ball for something to touch, to hold, and brought his chin down so he could look at where his lap would be if the blindfold were not there. 

Yennefer could have made Geralt sleep in his own bed and had Jaskier all to herself. They could snuggle and giggle and touch and kiss and fuck in front of the fire without an audience. So why was Geralt here, kneeling, blind, unable to participate? Did she want to taunt him with what he could not have? Did she want to show off the mutant she had tamed? What was her end goal? 

Geralt was foppish in his own ways, in the name of his sword and his footwork, in his long hair and quips, but never did he ask to be the center of attention. Except now, apparently. Now all he wanted was for Yennefer to look at him, to see him as she had asked for him to be and to deem him worthy of attention instead of just a mutant to be tamed. 

Suddenly he wanted to throw the bell in his hand - toss it into the fire and rip off his blindfold and walk out of the manor all together and tack up Roach. He belonged on the Path, not here, not trying to play pet to someone who he had chained down out of some sort of heroic, passing thought. Jaskier was the one who deserved to be fed decadent cakes by pretty sorceresses in front of a fire. 

From somewhere far away, Geralt heard a bell jangle. It wasn't until the wet sounds of kissing stopped that he realized that he had released the ball. 

_Fuck._

"Geralt," Yennefer said evenly, neutrally. "What is it?"

Suddenly all of the anxiety and hurt and loneliness Geralt had been feeling bubbled up from his stomach and into his esophagus. He didn’t mean to snap at her, but he couldn’t help it. 

“Why am I here?”

He heard Jaskier inhale sharply, and suddenly that was it, that was the final straw - he was scrabbling at the blindfold. He couldn't have this conversation blind, he had to be able to see the disappointment on the face of his best friend for himself-

Yennefer's robe was still intact, held in place by the belt, but a broad beringed hand had hiked the hem up to her thighs. Jaskier's cheeks were rosy and his hair was tousled, a look Geralt had seen on him many times when he had or returned (or escaped) from his latest conquest, but now just made him feel so bereft. The two best things in his life, wrapped around one another, completely ignoring him, using him as entertainment like every godforsaken person on the continent-

"Geralt of Rivia, wipe that look off of your face this instant," Yennefer snapped, drawing his gaze away from Jaskier’s face. The air suddenly crackled with electricity and the smell of ozone. Geralt could not smell all emotions - mainly sweat-based ones, fear and arousal and anxiety - but Yennefer always smelled like lightning waiting to strike when she was exceptionally angry. 

Unable to be angry like he wanted yet just as unable to be good like they asked him to be, Geralt felt lost in his own body. 

"Why are you here - ?" Jaskier repeated weakly, and _oh_ , fear was leaking into his scent. Fear and stale arousal and ozone and electricity and the smell of burning wood from the fireplace, and everything was so dim but somehow at the same time so bright- 

Before Geralt could understand what was happening, Yennefer slid from her place from the couch and knelt in his lap. Her right hand twisted in his hair and suddenly the world righted itself, grounded by the pressure on his scalp. 

"Listen to me, because I don't repeat myself." Yennefer’s voice was low, but loud enough for all of them to hear in the quiet of the room. Geralt tried to look away, but a hand came up and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye - violet thunderstorms backlit by lightning. "You're here because I want you to be. I don't waste my time on things I don't want."

Fear and pain was the key to clarity for a man who spent most of his life fighting monsters, apparently. The entire room melted back into focus - the smells became manageable, the shadows weren't too thick. Yennefer was right: everyone in the room was there because they wanted to be. He knew that. He knew she trying to cater to his constant need to finally be passive, to finally have his choices taken away from him so that they wouldn't have drastic consequences like children and death and whatever this was. KGeralt closed his eyes in humiliation. 

_God fucking dammit-_

Yennefer let him go roughly. Geralt listened blindly as she went to pour a glass of water from the pitcher. Then she brought it and the plate from earlier with her as she strode back and sat heavily on the edge of the sofa. 

"Open your eyes," she said. "Look only at me. Only me." The scene of ozone was also now becoming stale, old. Jaskier made a quip along the lines of not being pretty enough to look at, but it was half-hearted enough that Yennefer ignored him. 

Geralt opened his eyes. 

Yennefer's face was kinder now. Her robed thigh pressed into Jaskier’s, but Geralt resisted the urge to look at his face. He watched Yen put the plate on the cushion next to her and hold out the glass of water for Geralt to take 

"Drink that." 

Geralt took it. The cool surface was a shock to his hands, and the liquid was cold on his tense throat, but at least his hands didn’t shake. He felt himself relax even further into his own bones. 

"He's so good for you," Jaskier blurted, as if he were unable to contain himself. "We were so cruel to ignore him.”

Geralt wanted to close his eyes again at the onslaught. Jaskier spent his entire life saying pretty, meaningless things. Geralt couldn't take it here, in this space, now, after acting like a spoiled child- 

"Stand up," Yennefer said as she slid away from Jaskier and patted the now empty place on the sofa in obvious invitation. Geralt climbed up and sat between them, feeling like a chastened child. 

"I wasn't ignoring him," Yennefer snapped once he was settled, returning to Jaskier’s previous comment. She pushed on Geralt's chest until he sat back on the sofa instead of on the very edge, and then handed the plate to Jaskier. "I wanted him to settle in without too much sensory input. Geralt, you can look at him now, that's fine." 

Jaskier had turned on his side and propped his arm up on the back of the sofa, pushing into the witcher’s space without leaning into him. The closeness of his face took Geralt by surprised. 

"What's the point of listening to directions if you're not getting something out of it?" Jaskier teased softly. His eyes did not leave Geralt’s face. "I don't think being left on the floor is much of an incentive." 

Jaskier's breath was sweet from the pastries, but underneath Geralt could smell a hint of mint. The bard must have taken care to chew some in his rooms. The thought felt strangely intimate.

Yen shifted so she was facing Geralt more, melting into his side and the cushions and knocking her knees against his thighs. 

"Now, I know you don't have much of a sweet tooth. But let me have this, you big brute," Jaskier murmured after a few moments of quiet. He moved until he was holding the sweet cake in one hand and the palm of his other under it, to avoid spilling crumbs. He held it at face level, and instinctively Geralt glanced to his right in order to seek out Yen.

"Go on, I said I'm done bossing you around for tonight." 

Geralt turned back towards Jaskier. "Give it to me, can-" 

"I didn't ask if you could feed yourself," Jaskier said with his usual attitude 

Feeling chastised, Geralt slowly took a bite. Sugar exploded on his tongue in a way that was far too sweet for his usual tastes, but the fact that Jaskier had been thinking of him, had set this aside for him, had wanted to feed it to him - well. That lit a small fire inside of Geralt's belly. And Jaskier had such a soft, pleasant look in his face that Geralt could not help but take another bite. 

With Yennefer’s warm weight tucked into his right side and Jaskier looking at him so prettily on his left, Geralt should have felt _right_. Instead, the emotion was more akin to that of a pinned insect. He tried to tamp down the instinctual flight or fight response and enjoy the quiet moment. _._

"See, that wasn't too hard, was it?" Jaskier teased. 

"Don't push your luck, Jaskier."

The troubadour’s laugh was like sunshine on a warm summer's day. No matter how many years passed, it was the same.

"Well," Jaskier said. "As much as I love snogging hot witches and feeding hotter witch _ers_ , I think I should be off to bed soon. It's been a long day of travel, and I'm sure you two want to get on with your evening." 

Jaskier seemed reluctant to stand, but in the end he stood on knees that cracked. Geralt wanted to pull him back down onto the sofa, wrap his arms around him, breathe in the scent of sage and juniper. 

So of course he just sat there like a fool instead. 

"I'll see you out," Yennefer offered and got up herself to walk their guest to the door. 

With them both so far away, Geralt felt cold. He focused on their voices, soft in the doorway, and tried to resist the urge to turn around. 

"Breakfast is served early, but if you sleep in I can have something brought up for you. I have some potions to deliver tomorrow, so I won't be around until the evening. Try not to cause too much trouble."

"You wound me," Jaskier gasped, but it wasn't up to par with his usual jests. He was probably still feeling on edge after seeing Geralt manhandled by Yennefer of Vengerberg. 

"Don't make me push you out of here, bard," Yen warned. 

"Goodnight, my dear lady!" 


	3. Coming to Terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more after-care from the last chapter, along with a hard day of feelings for Geralt and Jaskier. Things will get a little less angsty and a lot hotter after this! 
> 
> Tw: mentions of vomit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish this chapter were longer, but unfortunately this was what I got done this week and I'm trying to stick to posting what I have weekly since this is supposed to be a relatively spontaneous story to help me break out of the anxiety I have about posting my writing.

The door whined shut and the lock clunked into place. Geralt studied the glass in his hand as he tried to even his breathing. When Yennefer sat down next to him, her leg jiggled anxiously. 

“He must think I torture you,” she said after a moment. Her tone was angry, but it was obviously directed at herself. 

“You don’t,” Geralt tried to reassure her quietly. He sat forward so that they would both be perched on the edge of the sofa and offered his glass of water to her. She took it.

“It’s like you said,” he went on. "If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be." 

Yes, in the heat of the moment Geralt often felt as if he deserved to be hurt or punished. He had bound them together against her will, after all. Ultimately, though, Geralt enjoyed not having to make decisions. Yennefer used pain and humiliation as a language they shared, not a weapon to be wielded. She never caused him undue suffering. Jaskier obviously spoke another language - one of pretty praises and tender touches. Geralt had been able to ignore it when spoken to others, but when the bard had turned it on him? All Geralt had heard were lies. 

Yennefer took a moment to digest, staring vacantly into the hearth. Geralt felt helpless. The sorceress had brought Jaskier into their home as an olive branch: _no, I don't hate your bard, and I understand that there could be a previously undiscovered side to your relationship that I could help facilitate_. Unfortunately, Yennefer was a fixer and not a helper - when she wanted something, whether it be for herself or someone else, she went in full force. This was one of those times. 

“What was it?” Yen finally asked the flames. 

Geralt let the question sit for a moment. He didn’t exactly know. Did he want to be touched, next time? Did he want to be spoken to? Did he want more direction? Then, all of a sudden, it became clear. 

“I didn’t come here to be alone.”

His enhanced hearing caught the sound of Yennefer swallowing tightly. She nodded, to herself or to the flames or to Geralt, he didn’t know. But she nodded, even if she didn’t say anything more. 

"Let's go to bed," Geralt finally murmured. He took Yennefer's smaller hand in his. It’s softness was comforting. 

“Do you need anything else before we do?” she asked the fire. 

He shook his head. She nodded hers and began to stand. 

Geralt had never been so grateful to be able to wrap his arms around her waist and press his nose into her hair. The sound of her heart lulled him into sleep. 

\--

The feeling of Yen slipping out of bed in the morning woke Geralt. He allowed himself to lay there a little longer; the bedding was so warm and Yennefer was so beautiful, and for a moment all he wanted was to watch her put on her makeup and pick out an outfit for the day in the light of the candles. It wasn't until the sun started to peek over the horizon that he finally kicked away the covers and sat on the edge of the mattress. 

Yennefer sauntered over and stood between his knees. Geralt sighed through his nose when her hands moved to lace at the nape of his neck. Bright eyes stared down at him and the scent of lavender engulfed him. 

"I'll be back late in the evening. Make sure Jaskier doesn't have a crisis,” Yennefer instructed. When Geralt’s face contorted in amusement, she turned stern. "I'm serious, Geralt of Rivia." 

He hummed noncommittally. _Yes, dear._

Yennefer pecked him on the crown of his head and then all too soon she escaped his grip, leaving Geralt sitting alone in the empty bedchamber. 

What did Geralt usually do when Yennefer left to conduct business? Sometimes he would follow up on contracts in the area, or work Roach to keep her in shape, or enter the village to stock up on supplies for when he left for Kaer Morhen. Of course he did. But this morning he felt as if there was no before, no usual thing he did. Of course Geralt had been occupying himself for a week or so before Jaskier had been invited here, he knew that, but at the same time he felt like he couldn't recall a single moment where he had not been pining after Yen. 

Reluctantly Geralt stood and began his day: chamber pot, clothes, brush through the hair - or at least over the very surface of his hair. Full place settings were only used when Yennefer was home, and so he wandered into the kitchens to see what could be found for breakfast. 

A bowl of porridge was in order, and he took it to the back of the house to eat it and an apple in the early morning sun. He thought about what he should do to keep busy, and then thought of Yen’s promise. If Jaskier wasn’t already milling around the manor, it meant Geralt would have to find him. But he should. Jaskier deserved that much. 

When he was finished with his breakfast, Geralt brought the bowl back into the kitchen and asked for them to make up a tray for Jaskier. They were happy to oblige, and since apples were in season he was even able to get some juice for the bard. 

Geralt tried not to think as he ascended the steps to Jaskier’s room and knocked on the door. At first there was no answer, but the witcher could just barely hear him inside, and so he knocked again. Again, there was no reply. 

“Jaskier,” he finally said, trying to make his voice sound non-threatening. “I know you’re in there.”

“Jaskier who?” came a grumble from the other side of the door, muffled by what had to be a pillow. “Don’t know him, never met him.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and turned the knob, letting himself in. 

Jaskier was face-down on his bed with the covers cocooned around him. When he turned his face to the world with a grumble, Geralt noticed the sheets had left a line across his sleep-red cheek. Combined with his tousled hair and the way his shirt hung loosely from his frame, he looked so _soft._

“Too bad Jaskier isn’t here,” he mused. “I brought up breakfast for him.”

Blue eyes immediately lit up. “Breakfast? You truly are a saint, Geralt of Rivia.”

“I’ve been called many things, but I think Saint is new.” Geralt sat on the side of the bed as Jaskier moved himself up to sit against the headboard. The blankets slipped down, revealing Jask was only wearing his loose shirt. It was nothing new - the bard usually slept half-naked - but suddenly all Geralt wanted to do was reach out and run a hand up one of those long legs. Instead, he placed the tray in Jaskier’s lap. 

“God given,” Jaskier swore as he took in the spread before him. Geralt had asked for toast and jam for Jaskier instead of porridge - he ate so much gruel on the road that it was only fair that the Witcher provided him with something better when he could. 

Jaskier smothered a piece of toast in jam and then took a messy bite, letting out a moan that was positively sinful and settled deep in Geralt’s belly. It felt wrong, until Geralt reminded himself that he was allowed to think of Jaskier in this context now. 

"I expected you to be up by now," Geralt said, in order to distract himself. "You went to bed early enough." 

Jaskier's look turned sheepish, and Geralt felt guilty for putting a damper on his happiness. 

"Sleeping is…. An overstatement," he finally laughed tightly. "Couldn't really sleep.”

Geralt was silent, hoping it would cause Jaskier to ramble on and elaborate. It did cause him to keep talking, but none of it was exactly useful.

"I was thinking of going into town tonight! I could make some coin and drink some ale, see where the night goes. I've been in court for a while, I think it would be nice to drink in a proper tavern.”

The thought of Jaskier going into town, playing his bawdy songs and winking at pretty maidens made Geralt feel…. Cold. It wasn't as if Jaskier didn’t already do those things regularly, but with the context of the night before, the thought drained the softness away from the moment.

"Have you stocked up for your trek home this year?" Jaskier went on. "If you need money, I can try and find something lucrative for you while I'm mingling. I know how much you hate going into towns when you could be somewhere quiet." 

"I'm fine," Geralt half-lied. He did need more coin before he set off for Kaer Morhen, but that was not Jaskier's problem.

"Well," Jaskier said as he shook a piece of bread at Geralt. "I also know you go stir crazy. So, regardless, I'll find you some work." 

Geralt only nodded. Then, before he had even thought it through, he said, “Roach needs to be re-shod. There’s a farrier on the edge of town.”

Jaskier’s face lit up, but it wasn’t as bright as it usually was when Geralt decided to spend time with him. 

“That settles it!” he decided. “We can walk to town together!”

While Jaskier got himself ready Geralt packed up what he would need for the day, donned a simple short jopula, and headed out to tend to Roach. 

“Time to get you some new shoes,” he told her, and went on to talk about Jaskier’s sheepishness and tight smiles, but as usual she had little to say. Typical Roach. 

Jaskier met him at the main gates to the manor in the afternoon and together they set off towards town. It was about an hour’s walk, a little more, and the entire time Jaskier bombarded him with senseless chatter. Never did he once bring up the night before. Geralt wished he would. He wished he would say something so that their time together didn’t seem like weird fever dream or fantasy.

When they entered town Jaskier flitted away, talking about arrangements and getting the word out and such. Geralt only hummed and in the blink of an eye the bard was gone, leaving the witcher feeling alone at the threshold of a busy settlement. He breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself, but all he could smell was horse shit. 

The farrier was on the other side of town from the taverns, and it took the man a good amount of time (and a lot of coaching from Geralt) to get Roach into her new set of shoes. It was probably a bad decision to get his touchy mare re-shod on a day when she would already be on edge due to his own shitty mood, but there was nothing for it now. In compensation, Geralt gave the blacksmith a few extra crowns. He’d definitely have to take another contract before autumn started to turn. 

The sun was starting to dip low when they finished up, and unconsciously Geralt made his way towards the taverns. Nobody could blame him for wanting to see one of his oldest friends perform, could they? Jaskier hadn’t invited him along, which was already odd in and of itself, but it didn’t mean he was banned, did it? He was just being courteous of Geralt’s dislike for crowded spaces, right? 

Jaskier’s voice floated down the dirt road before Geralt had even thought of which establishment to try first, weaving its way through the long late-afternoon shadows. With his choice now made up for him, Geralt hitched roach to a post and made his way into the bar. 

It took the witcher a moment to settle and understand his surroundings as he wandered in. The smells, the sounds, the low light - it all became a cacophony extremely quickly, and took him a moment to adjust to. The tavern was extremely small but filled with townspeople already enjoying their evening. Determined to go unnoticed, Geralt sought out the darkest, loneliest corner and bee-lined for it.

With a tankard of ale on the way and a corner to brood in, Geralt allowed himself to seek out his bard. 

Jaskier was settled on a table-top, one leg slung over the other. His face was quite flushed and his bangs were already damp with sweat from an evening of galavanting and flirting, if the plump blonde sitting to his right making eyes at him was anything to go by. He was taking a moment between songs, laughing and letting her ply him with another drink. He was already partially into his cups, if the flush on his chest was anything to go by, 

“Alright, alright,” Geralt heard him laugh underneath the dull roar of the crowd. “One more, one more.”

He burst into the last thing Geralt of Rivia wanted to hear in that instant, which was, of course, Fishmonger’s Daughter. 

His drink order appeared on his right, and all of a sudden Geralt wanted to be anywhere but at that table, watching Jaskier flirt with a blonde with fat tits and long eyelashes. Jaskier always looked so dashing when he was flirting, all smiles and smooth voices and innuendos. Geralt didn’t want to watch something he would never experience for himself, because instead of touching him, Jaskier would rather touch _anyone else._ Even Yennefer, who not three weeks ago he had hated with every fiber of his being not attached directly to his cock. 

Geralt drank the entire tankard of beer in one sitting, put it on the counter, and walked out. 

Roach was still outside, hitched up to the post. She turned her ears as he came closer and snorted, as if asking him why he was back so soon. Geralt answered with a sigh. 

“I know,” he said gently. “We should be getting back soon.” It was apparent that Jaskier would not need help getting back to the manor, if his flirting was anything to go by. 

Still, something in Geralt held him back from untying the mare and mounting up. He ran his hand through her maine as he tried to gather his thoughts together into something even mildly coherent. 

When a door opened somewhere far off, Geralt barely heard it over the din of the tavern and the sound of his own thoughts. It wasn’t until he heard a giggle and Jaskier’s voice in the distance, whispering something intelligible, that the witcher’s attention was pulled out of his own head. 

Someone wretched.

A female screamed.

“Oh fuck-”

“YOU DISGUSTING WHORESON,” she yelled. There was a thud, and the footsteps scrambling away. 

When Geralt rounded the corner into the alleyway beside the tavern, Jaskier was leaning heavily against the stone wall. There was a small amount of vomit to one side, but Geralt had a funny feeling that whoever had screamed was wearing most of what had been hacked up.

Jaskier’s head turned heavily towards Geralt, who stood in the light of a torch. He heard the bard sigh. 

“G’rlt,” he moaned. “You’re still’ere?”

“Yeah,” he said as he approached. “Roach took longer than I expected.”

Jaskier took that at face value and nodded to himself, closing his eyes. “I fucked up,” he murmured, to himself or to Geralt he didn’t know. 

“Throwing up on maidens you are trying to bed could be considered a fuck up, yes,” Geralt agreed. He leaned a single shoulder on the wall next to Jaskier’s, smiling wryly. “Usually you have a stronger stomach.”

“Mixed…like… a fool,” the bard said weakly between breaths. His forehead glistened with sweat in the dark. He wasn’t a college student anymore or a bright young teenager; he’d been on the road for over ten years since Posada, and his stomach was obviously not what it used to be. Usually Jaskier knew better than to mix his alcohols but…. Obviously he hadn’t been thinking about that. 

Geralt hummed. 

“You…. you……” Jaskier started, still breathing heavily from having just thrown up the content of his stomach. It was a pathetic look on him. “How are you always there when I need you most?”

All at once Geralt wanted to fold Jaskier into his arms and hold him tight. All the anger from earlier left him and instead he was left with a bone-deep sadness that made him sigh and lean a little heavier into the wall at his shoulder. Life suddenly felt incredibly _heavy._ Sometimes he wondered how he came to be in these situations. 

Jaskier tried to calm himself down, running his hands over his face and wiping his bangs back from his forehead. Then he turned his flushed and sweaty face towards Geralt, open from drunkenness but with breath that smelled like vomit. As close as they were, and as much as the witcher wanted to reach out and wrap his arms around Jaskier, it was overwhelming. 

“Let’s go home,” he finally decided. Jaskier nodded in agreement and together they made their way out of the ally, Geralt watching him closely to make sure he didn’t stumble. 

Roach’s ears perked up at the sound of them. She always understood when Jaskier was drunk and patiently allowed him to rain affection down on her as Geralt dug through his saddle bags for some water. 

“Can you ride?” he asked as he handed over the flask. Jaskier took a swig and rinsed his mouth, first, before chugging the last of it and handing it back. 

“Um,” he finally said, having seemingly lost every verbose bone in his body. He stared at Roach as if she had suddenly sprouted two new heads and grown forty feet tall. 

Geralt sighed. The shifting of being in the saddle would undoubtedly upset Jaskier’s stomach, but the drunken uphill walk with only one person having witcher sight would definitely take the two hours. 

The walk it was. It would give Jaskier time to sober up, at least. Now that Geralt had gotten a good look at him, Jaskier’s distress seemed more to do with the mixing of drink in his belly than actual drunkenness. Bile never tasted good in the back of the throat. 

Now decided, Geralt untied Roach and started to lead her down the road slowly. Jaskier followed beside him, one hand on the horse’s shoulder as if to steady himself. Geralt mentally added more time to his estimation. 

Jaskier was uncharacteristically quiet for most of the way, though he did thank Geralt profusely as they made their way out of town since it was obvious he would not have been able to find his way back to the manor alone. Geralt only hummed in response, studying the stars absently. With his eyes so dilated to see in the dark, he could clearly make out the wide strip of the galaxy. Sometimes he wondered what was out there, if anything at all. Once, in a sleepy haze, Yennefer had told him that she would find out. 

They were halfway up the hillside to the manor, about an hour into the walk, when Jaskier finally said something with more sustenance. 

“Are you and Yen going to…. Play tonight?” The bard’s words were carefully crafted, especially for someone who’d had the night he had. 

“No,” Geralt said. “She’ll be tired.”

“Oh,” was all Jaskier said, quite dumbly. 

The silence stretched. The trees rustled. Geralt waited for him to go on - there was definitely a point the bard was trying to make. 

“Am I…. Still allowed, when you do?” Jaskier finally asked. 

Geralt almost stopped walking, but willed himself to keep moving, however slowly. It helped that Jaskier was on Roach’s far side and he didn’t have to see his face. Not allowed? Why wouldn’t Jaskier be allowed to play their game, when that was what he had been invited to the manor to do in the first place? Geralt had been the one to throw a fit last night - Jask hadn’t done a single thing wrong. 

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Geralt finally asked carefully. 

“Because,” Jaskier started, then stopped again. He breathed in a deep breath in order to fortify himself. “Because…Geralt, I ruined it - your entire night-”

Geralt cut him off with a single “No.”

“No?” Jaskier repeated lamely, as if Geralt were speaking another language. 

“No,” Geralt repeated. “You didn’t.” 

“Geralt-”

Finally Geralt stopped, pulling on Roach’s reins sharply so she would halt. Jaskier kept walking for a moment before he realized what had happened, and when he turned they were finally face to face. Seeing his pained expression didn’t help Geralt one bit, but he knew he had to put this to rest before it began to fester. It may have already started to. 

“Yennefer was doing what she thought was best. She miscalculated. It happens.”

Jaskier’s eyes searched everywhere, as if he were trying to pull the words out of the air even though he most likely couldn’t see farther than a foot or two in front of his own nose. When he spoke, it was as if they had forced their way up from his stomach as quickly as the vodka and the rum and the ale. 

“I felt like I was only there to pushish you! Like all Yennefer wanted was to see how long you could be ignored, when all I wanted to do was touch you, hold you. You’re so beautiful, and strong, and when I saw you like that all I wanted was to tell you how amazing you were.” 

Geralt was stunned into silence. Tears were welling up in Jaskier’s eyes. 

“Jas-” he tried.

“You asked why you were there, and all I could think was I was the one who should be asking that! You and Yennefer work so well, and here I am, intruding like a fool because she said some pretty words to me one drunken night.” His eyes were now skyward, trying to hold back tears. “She probably just read my mind and said whatever would work best.”

“She doesn’t lie like that,” Geralt said sharply. “She doesn’t use it like that.”

“Geralt-”

“Don’t,” he said sharply. No matter how long he had known Jaskier, he wouldn’t allow his friend to say something so cruel. Yennefer had never asked to be able to read minds. It was something she did unconsciously, almost by accident, to people she was attuned to. Yennefer had brought Jaskier into this because she thought he could be trusted with the delicacy of the situation. She didn’t deserve to be slandered. 

“I’m always the third!” Jaskier finally burst out. His eyebrows were drawing together, and anger was starting to bubble up into his features. “I’m always invited into these things, and then kicked out like a puppy who’s grown too big to be cute anymore. I’m entertainment, never anything more. But guess what, Geralt of Rivia! I’m a grown-ass man.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say in the face of Jaskier’s rage, but suddenly he understood. Jaskier had escaped into the tavern to find someone who would hold him and touch him and croon at him, and him only, even if just for a second. It may have been fleeting, but Jaskier’s answer to turmoil had always been to find the quickest fix possible - usually in the arms of someone. He felt as if he had only been invited to stay in Yennefer’s shadow because they needed to spice things up, and didn’t understand that it had been a conscious choice on the witch’s part. It still didn’t lift the pain that had settled in Geralt’s heart at the bard’s words, however. Out of anyone on the planet, Geralt had thought Jaskier of all people would understand the amount of trust that went into what he and Yennefer did. He could think of no one else on the continent that he would invite to participate. 

Finally Geralt was able to will his throat into movement. The words that climbed from his mouth were torn, scratchy, and quite definitely raw. 

“If I wanted entertainment, I’d go whoring.” 

He clicked his tongue and pulled Roach forward, through he kept an ear out to make sure Jaskier was following. He did, most likely because it was his only choice. Geralt let the sound of his friend’s footsteps soothe the anger in him until the only feeling he could identify was that was emptiness. Geralt felt empty for the rest of the walk home, drained by disappointment and sadness. 

The torches of the manner came into view half an hour later, and a little while after it became light enough that Jaskier could most likely see the way home himself. Geralt skirted around the back of the estate to the stables, listening for the telltale whine of the door that would tell him Jaskier had gone inside. 

Untacking and settling Roach for the night was a robotic affair that gave him space to try and understand his feelings. It didn’t mean he had made any sense of them by the end, though. He was finishing up when he heard footsteps approaching, which puzzled him at the late hour. 

Jaskier didn’t look at him as he approached. Geralt finished hanging up the hay net silently. Something smelled vaguely salty, and it clicked into place when the witcher finally looked up to see Jaskier’s red face. 

“You’re right,” he said. His voice was tired. “You wouldn’t have let me see you like that, if you didn’t trust me. I should have understood. I didn’t.”

Geralt studied him silently, not trusting himself to speak. He nodded minutely instead. 

“I can’t be passive, though,” Jaskier went on. His face was resolute, stern. “I have to be allowed to be an active participant. We have to talk about things before they happen.” 

“I told Yen the same thing,” Geralt agreed softly.

The air between them suddenly felt lighter.


	4. Rinsed Clean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier spend some more time together. It's far softer this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Short update

As soon as Geralt finished up and bolted the stall door shut, Jaskier attached himself to his arm. Normally, this wouldn't be anything new since Jaskier touched him in all sorts of innocent ways all the time - except he had not since entering the manner, and now there was an undercurrent, a possibility. Jaskier's hold felt like hope, warm in the pit of Geralt's stomach, even though his friend was uncharacteristically quiet as they walked towards the manor. He was most likely tired from such an emotional day, which Geralt understood. It wasn't until they reached the hall with Jaskier's room that the bard spoke.

"I suppose you'll be going to Yennefer?" He asked, his eyes tight around the edges. It didn't suit him. 

Geralt hummed in affirmation, which drew a resigned nodd from Jaskier. He wished he could bring Jaskier with him, longed for all three of them to lie in bed together, happy for the moment. Jaskier was bright and full of substance where both he and Yennefer were dark and devoid, and a greedy part of him wanted nothing more to keep Jaskier happy forever so that he might feel something where there was nothing. 

"Going to check in," he tried to explain, which for some reason seemed to embolden Jaskier. 

"I miss sleeping next to you," he admitted. "Ask if you can sleep in my chambers, I promise to make it worth-”

"Jaskier," Geralt said sternly. He didn't need to hear the rest of that desperate sentence, not after an uphill walk and an emotionally exhausting day. He might do something stupid, might let Jaskier do something stupid, and then their first time together would be tainted by the taste of shitty vodka and jealousy and exhaustion. 

"Right, you're right, I'll shut up now…” Jaskier’s tone made Geralt sigh.

"I miss it too," he admitted after a moment. It was the least he could do, since Jaskier was her trying to make things work, trying to progress their relationship forward. 

The look Jaskier gave him was soft, and surprised, and full of longing, and suddenly Geralt understood. All those times he left Jaskier to trail after and lie beneath the heel of Yennefer's boot had hurt them both, and now in the wake of this new triangular relationship those wounds would have to be corrected. The triangle could not sit unequally. 

Geralt had no idea where to begin. It frustrated him.

When they stood in front of the large oak door to Yennefer’s chambers, Jaskier seemed to vibrate in a way similar to when they would part for the winter: reluctant to let him go, desperate for something more. 

“I don’t have to ask,” Geralt said finally, trying to fix Jaskier’s assumption from earlier - his idea that Yennefer had to provide approval. The fact that she had invited them both to stay in her home at the same time, and introduced Jaskier to their dynamic - that in and of itself was a gift that spoke for itself. It was obvious that Yen was comfortable with Geralt having someone when she was not around, but that didn't lessen his need to see her right now. The spaces between his fingers were too wide and she seemed to slip through them so fast, and right now all he wanted was to hold her tight while it was still feasible to do so. 

Jaskier only looked at him confusedly. 

“I don’t have to ask Yennefer for permission to sleep in your bed,” Geralt tried again. The feeling of gravel in his throat had returned. “But… She’s been alone all day.”

Dawning crashed into Jaskier’s features. “ _Oh, Geralt…._ ” 

When it was apparent that Geralt wouldn’t be able to say much more, Jaskier slowly wrapped his arms around him. The warmth and strength of Jaskier’s form was comforting, calming, and all Geralt wanted to do was sink into it. He could hear the beating of Jaskier's heart - thump, thump, thump - grounding him to the earth. 

“Tomorrow, then,” Jaskier murmured into Geralt’s body. “There’s always tomorrow.” 

Geralt hummed in approval. 

Reluctantly Jaskier pulled away and smiled something watery and small, and without a look back Geralt slipped into Yennefer’s sitting room. He didn't want to see the look of disappointment on Jaskier's face. 

There was a fire smoldering dully in the hearth as he closed the door behind him. He could see Yennefer's hair over the top of the sofa, where she was resting her temple against the wooden frame. From the sound of her heartbeat and breathing, she had fallen asleep. 

-

Geralt woke before Yennefer the next morning but didn't move, basking in the warmth of her body and the smell of her skin and the sight of the autumn sun through the windows.

Jaskier appeared in time for breakfast, and the three of them sat together at the table for a meal. It was still odd for Geralt to see them together in such domesticality - Yennefer in her black and white while Jaskier wore something bright sunflower gold. To Geralt they resembled the moon and the sun, sitting down to breakfast together. 

When Jaskier brought up a Wyvern in a nearby town and a large purse for it, Geralt listened intently. At least yesterday's trip into town hadn't been a complete waste of energy.

"I think that's a perfect job for another day," Yennefer interrupted. "But tonight I was hoping that we could play together. After breakfast I can send word that you'll ride to town tomorrow."

Jaskier looked to Geralt as if asking for permission. Permission for what, Geralt did not know, but he nodded in agreement with Yennefer regardless.

"Play?" Jaskier finally asked, seemingly unable to contain himself. 

"Are you just as intelligent when you teach at Oxenfurt?" Yen bit, but it was playful. She picked the napkin from her lap and placed it carefully on the table with one hand before sitting back on her chair. 

"I'll have you know, not a year has passed that they have not invited me to become a permanent faculty member!" the bard declared, but Geralt could hear Jaskier’s heart pick up speed in anticipation, and from the smug look growing on Yennefer’s face she had an inkling as to how excited he was. 

"Oh, yes, do go on," Yen drawled. 

"As much as I could wax on about my accomplishments," Jaskier said haughtily as he tried to regain the upper hand. "I'd much rather hear about what you apparently have planned for this evening."

Yennefer grinned like the cat who had gotten the cream.

"Oh, nothing much," she began, as if the next sentence wasn't about to devastate Geralt. "I just want you to hold Geralt together while I ride him until he falls apart. He’s adverse to being tied up... I think your strong embrace could be just what he needs." 

“I do live to please,” Jaskier laughed, his charm starting to come back to him, but a pretty flush was starting to appear at the tips of his ears. 

They were going to be the death of him, that’s what Geralt was thinking when he realized Jaskier was trying to ask him if that sounded appealing. It took him a moment to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. 

“Yeah,” he finally murmured. He couldn’t imagine anything better. 

"Good," Yennefer said as she pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. "Oh, and take a bath at some point today - I don't find two day old sausages appealing."

A bark burst from Jaskier's lips. It sounded like the summer sun filtering through the forest canopy. 

\----

After breakfast Jaskier asked if he could accompany Geralt on his small excursion into the surrounding woods to find ingredients for his potions. Well, at first he tried to tell Geralt they should spend the day lazing around the manor, but when he was only me with a stern glare Jaskier had a change of heart. Geralt may be living comfortably for the time being, but he still had things he needed to do. After all, the tips of the younger trees were starting to turn. His time here was limited. Witchers were not stationary creatures. 

"So, uh," Jaskier began as they entered the wood. Geralt could sense his anxiety. "I wanted to say thank you, for letting me be here, with you and Yennefer. I never imagined…. After so long I figured…"

Geralt didn't know how to reply, so he stayed silent. 

“But, I wanted to ask…. You like this, right? This whole dynamic? I don’t doubt that you do, but I just - you never said anything before, and we’ve been to the brothel together plenty of times…”

A flock of geese flew overhead, and their honking drew Geralt’s attention away for the moment. It gave him a moment to breathe, to think about his answer.

“I’m always making decisions,” he started, still unable to look at Jaskier. “Life or death decisions. It’s nice to let other people make them, sometimes. People I trust.”

“Well, that’s good then!” Jaskier laughed, the way he did when he didn’t know what to say and was bullshitting his way through a situation. “Because, as we all know, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s making decisions on the fly.”

Geralt smirked at him. “Yeah. Shitty ones.” 

“Don’t you dare!”

When Jaskier found the sewent mushrooms he’d been searching for, Geralt kissed him before he could think twice about it. Jaskier squeaked in surprise, but grabbed a fistfull of Geralt's shirt and made him come back to finish what he had started.

Kissing Jaskier was like the first green shoots of spring. New, but familiar. It was odd how easy it felt when he didn't hold himself back. 

When they arrived back at the manor, Geralt packed away the herbs they had gathered and checked in on Yen in her office. She gave him a knowing look, and said “Only took what? Ten years and the threat of a three-some?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, but something deep within his chest warmed at the thought of Yennefer approving of him being with Jaskier. “I’m going to show him the bath in your room,” he said in lieu of an answer. 

“I guess, but make him use his own oils and soaps. I refuse to have half of my stash ruined."

Geralt thought about letting the bard have the run of the place just to see what the punishment would be, but Yennefer's wrath was usually not as fun in reality as it was in the comfort of his own mind. At the very beginning of his stay he had been craving a heavy hand, but Jaskier's presence made Yennefer's humiliation cut deeper. He just wanted to show Jaskier that he was _good._

A large copper tub was set on clay tiles in a room adjacent to Yen's bedchamber. The downward flow of water from the hill the manor was set into provided them a tap of sorts, and a quick cast of Igni would heat the bath. Yennefer had enchanted her door so only she or Geralt could open it, so he called for Jaskier across the hall as he stood in the threshold.

"Bring your things," he told the bard roughly when his brunette head popped into view. Jaskier was all too excited to do so. 

Without preamble Geralt started to strip while Jaskier set his things down on a low stool. He was babbling - about the scents he'd chosen, a new soap or something - but Geralt wasn't paying him much mind. He enjoyed listening to Jaskier's voice in times like these, letting the vowels and consonants flow around him. 

“Geralt! Hey, that’s my job!” Jaskier exclaimed, finally realizing that his partner was naked. He pouted. “I turn my back on you for one second, and you take my simple pleasures away.”

Geralt blinked at him. “I’m not-”

“I don’t care if you’re not hurt from a hunt. In fact, that’s the entire _point._ How am I supposed to-”

Having had just about enough of his confusing babble, Geralt turned his back on him and climbed into the tub, which he had already warmed. “Get in, before it gets cold.”

“Oh - uh. With you?” Jaskier babbled, as if they had not gone whoring together more than once. Geralt glared at him for his stupidity. 

“Oh, yeah, of course, silly me.”

While Jaskier disrobed, Geralt closed his eyes and leaned as far back into the copper tub as he could. It would be a tight fight, and there was plenty enough water at arm’s reach for them to bathe separately… Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed the issue. 

The sound of a bottle being uncorked and a small, non-invasive amount of juniper and sage hit Geralt’s nose. _He was going to smell like Jaskier._ The revelation was like a kick to the gut. Yennefer (and even Jaskier) would only be able to tell if they were pressed into his skin, but Geralt would be able to smell the new scent underneath his senses for at least a day. Every time he did, he would feel claimed, owned. _Jaskier owns me. Jaskier, famous bard, poet, artist - he wants me. He’s laid his claim._

“That won’t be too much, will it?” Jaskier’s voice was nervous. Geralt opened his eyes again. His face must have twisted at the thought, given him away, but not in the right ways. It never did. 

Jaskier stood in just his breeches, bottle still in hand, fidgeting with the cork. It took a moment for Geralt to remember he needed to speak. 

“No,” he finally croaked. 

“Good, good. I never know, you know, with my human nose and all-”

“It’s good,” Geralt finally tried to reassure him. “Just enough.”

Jaskier smiled, and turned to set the vial down and unbutton his trousers while murmuring “Good, good.”

Geralt had seen Jaskier naked before. His thighs were strong from days of walking, and his body was furred. Now that they were going to be intimate, Geralt allowed his gaze to drift to Jaskier’s cock. To his surprise, it seemed vaguely interested in the proceedings - it was plumped, though not hard yet. 

“Stop looking, you big brute,” Jaskier teased as he got into the tub. “Unless you plan to finish the job.”

A hum escaped Geralt as he closed his eyes again; the thoughts were easier when he wasn’t looking at the bard’s eager face. He didn’t want to come right now, wasn’t in the mood to be strung out yet, but Jaskier was more than welcome to. Though it would make the bathwater dirty.. . 

“Not in the bathwater,” he finally murmured. 

Jaskier’s laugh was surprised, to say the least. “As if you haven’t been covered in worse.”

Geralt repeated himself, this time more firmly. 

Jaskier dropped it for the moment in favor of grabbing the soap, which he tossed from hand to hand for a moment. Then he said something Geralt had not been expecting. 

“Do you have the authority to tell me what to do, right now? I believe it was Yennefer who invited me here in the first place. Not you."

He let it sit for a moment, but eventually opened his eyes to find Jaskier looking straight back at him. He replayed the bard’s words in his mind. This was Jaskier giving him a choice. A yes, or a no. Do you want to start now? Just us, here? His answer would have to be careful - their relationship was new, and after Jaskier’s outburst the other night, they were in a precarious place. He’d been vaguely bossed around by his bard for years, but it was never with the weight or the context of this moment. 

“Jaskier,” he finally said, carefully. “Not yet.”

Jaskier gave a deflated nodd. It hurt Geralt somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know what to say, but thankfully bards were known for their charm.

“Can I wash you, at least? Like usual?”

The sentence felt like bliss. He nodded. 

The approach was anxious, but soon Jaskier was able to find a spot to settle in between Geralt’s legs, his own thighs spread over the witcher’s. Jaskier’s heart fluttered and his hands trembled minutely as he ran them over Geralt’s arms. Geralt tried to resist the urge to close his eyes against the onslaught of information. 

After some long, quiet minutes where soap was rubbed down his ribcage and up into his armpits, Jaskier kissed the corner of his mouth. “Thank you," he whispered. 

Geralt looked at him quizzically, but wasn’t graced with an answer. He found Jaskier's hand and took the soap from him, and for the first time in their very long friendship he began running it over the parts of Jaskier he could have very easily reached himself. 

"Oh, we're feeling kind today?" Jaskier said, obviously trying to lighten the tension. "Decided to finally repay the favor?" 

"Shut up, Jask." 

"What? Sorry, I couldn't hear you-" 

Geralt kissed him again. 

"Woah there," Jaskier laughed against Geralt's lips. Although he did not want to pull away, the sound of Jaskier's happy giggling made him smile back. 

"Don't tease me," Geralt growled back playfully, unable to stop himself from kissing a squirming Jaskier again. 

"I would never!" Jaskier said in mock innocence. 

"Liar." They descended into more innocent kisses this time. Jaskier's skin was slick and warm under his palms. The simplicity of it was beautiful. 

After a few minutes, Geralt reached for the soap again and pressed it back into Jaskier's hands. "Clean your cock," he grunted. 

The rest of the bath went along easily enough, though Jaskier begged to braid Geralt's hair. It was a firm no, but he didn't put it back up again, either. It was easier to pull when it was down. Jaskier brushed it and tucked it behind his ears, and Geralt felt taken care of. 

When Jaskier redressed in a sheer, ruffled chemise and silk trousers, Geralt lifted his brow. 

"What? Is it a crime to want to look good for Yennefer? I still have to win her over, unlike you. We can't all have beautiful, scary sorceresses swooning over us." 

Geralt shook his head silently, and put on a pair of pants himself and a simple shirt so he wouldn't be chilled during dinner. Meanwhile, Jaskier rubbed a concoction on his face and ran his fingers through his hair. 

For the first time in a long time, Geralt found himself looking forward to what the evening held, comfortable in the knowledge that both Yennefer and Jaskier wanted what was best. 


End file.
